My twenty-fifth podcast is a droning spoken word piece. (It's much less repetitive than the last one.)
Hello Good evening and welcome I'm Franklyn Monk I hold deep-seated and derisive political ideologies It's true! I'm an ally But I see no sense in preaching to the choir I see no sense in preaching to the choir So I'm gonna talk on somethin' Mundane Or prosaic Like sunsets The moon An owl
Oh, the Moon isn't her real name Her real name to too beautiful Too beautiful too beautiful Her real name would burn your ears Or my tongue Turn you into a zombie Albeit a good one That doesn't eat people So it continually eats itself Sunrise to sunset Sunset to sunset There's an owl there Somewhere
Oh, I have a first conscience memory of an owl But it's too painful to revisit So it's left as an exercise For the audience What is the poet's owl?